


And the deep river ran on

by plumtrees



Series: C(4,2) = 6 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9181393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: He doesn’t mind coming home and seeing them on the couch, Oikawa’s long legs draped over Iwaizumi’s lap, Iwaizumi’s hand in Oikawa’s hair, scratching away.And besides, it’s not like it can even be counted ascheating, considering that Oikawa’s dead after all.Hanamaki was used to being second best.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Used two prompts again! "can I request HanaIwa hurt/comfort (or just looots of cuddling idk)?" and "HanaIwa + moles"
> 
> tbh I have no idea how this happened. Some hinted but platonic OiIwa

Before he started dating Iwaizumi he already knew he and Oikawa were a package deal. Dating one entailed kind-of, sort-of dating the other. It was funny, at first, Oikawa playing third wheel to their dates, him sitting on the armchair adjacent to the couch with a pout while they made out or cuddled, the idea that someday Oikawa will be reciting their vows alongside them in some three-way marriage ceremony.

Hanamaki figures it also worked to everyone’s advantage that he’s a chill kind of guy. Sure, he gets jealous, but never possessive. He understands that best friends hold some sort of territory that he can never breach, even as Iwaizumi’s boyfriend. Hanamaki respects the fact that Oikawa’s been in Iwaizumi’s life far longer than he has, has witnessed so much more of Iwaizumi than he can ever hope to. He doesn’t mind coming home and seeing them on the couch, Oikawa’s long legs draped over Iwaizumi’s lap, Iwaizumi’s hand in Oikawa’s hair, scratching away.

And besides, it’s not like it can even be counted as _cheating_ , considering that Oikawa’s dead after all.

 

-

 

Oikawa’s not the first ghost he’s seen. Having a former shrine maiden for a mother means he’s seen his fair share of spirits, and he supposes he can only be grateful that the one that haunts his lover isn’t out for his blood.

Oikawa and most of his family died from a car accident, rear-ended by a truck. Only his eldest brother survived. He died four months before Hanamaki met Iwaizumi, but he doesn’t look upset that he’s still here, wandering. In fact, he looks like a perfectly content young adult, if only randomly intangible and confined to wherever Iwaizumi is, a fact neither of them seem to mind at all.

Hanamaki knows the dangers of letting spirits get too comfortable in the plane of the living. Iwaizumi doesn’t, but Hanamaki highly doubts he’ll listen even if Hanamaki tells him. He loves Oikawa too much to consider sending him away. The fact that Iwaizumi can see him, the fact that Oikawa’s soul is tethered to him even though he doesn’t have a drop of spiritual blood in his family, already establishes that.

Hanamaki relents. Because he’s an optimist. Because he wants Iwaizumi happy, and if Oikawa’s presence is what ensures that, then so be it.

 

-

 

The happiness doesn’t last. 

When he and Iwaizumi are on the couch, tongues and legs tangled, or just innocently curled over each other, watching television, the moment the lights flicker, or a door slams, or something fragile falls from its perch (and what the _fuck_ , really), Iwaizumi will be up and apologizing, eyes already darting around for Oikawa, brows knitted, Hanamaki forgotten.

Sometimes it’s just Oikawa being Oikawa, still experimenting with his abilities, excitedly telling Iwaizumi about how he floated to the upper floors and popped a lightbulb, or got a dog barking nonstop. Iwaizumi breathes with silent relief, worry seeping out of him as he smiles exasperatedly and Hanamaki waits patiently for the moment to resume.

Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes Iwaizumi goes pale as Oikawa’s silhouette stands in the darkened hallway, eyes bleeding red, blue veins sticking out from under deathly-pale skin. He walks over and tries to talk Oikawa down, even as the objects in the room rattle threateningly.

Hanamaki worries then too. He knows how Oikawa is more unstable on some days, how that instability can be dangerous. He wants to help too but he knows only Iwaizumi can seem to keep it at bay, can keep him from shattering all the windows and sending all the furniture in a flying frenzy. He wants to help but he has no idea how and he knows that will only make it worse.

So he sits and waits. Waits for Iwaizumi to come back to him, as he always does, tearstained and tired but still his.

Still his.

 

-

 

“I love you.” Iwaizumi whispers over his lips, against his forehead, and Hanamaki can’t help but hate how guilty he always sounds when he says it nowadays. “You know that right? Takahiro.”

“I know.” Hanamaki replies. He does not say _but you love him more, but it’s okay, I understand, it doesn’t matter, it’s alright_. Instead he says “I love you too, Hajime. More than anyone.”

It hurts more and more now. He notes the fact that not once has Iwaizumi ever said those same words and he has long since accepted that he will never be the one Iwaizumi loves most. He knows Iwaizumi is afraid, he knows that sometimes Iwaizumi feels too torn because he has given so much of himself to Oikawa that he has nothing left for everyone else but a cracked, crooked heart.

He knows Oikawa knows how much this is hurting Iwaizumi. He knows Oikawa is trying now, disappearing too many hours in a day because he’s trying to find his way back home, where he should be, where he should have been all this time, but the longer he is away from Iwaizumi the worse the relapse is, and Hanamaki doesn’t think those moments of privacy are worth _this_ —Oikawa curled up in their couch, form flashing between a completely healthy Oikawa Tooru and a rotting corpse with half his skin eaten away and crawling with maggots.

Sometimes he wonders if he has the right to hate Oikawa for being stuck, for indirectly encouraging Iwaizumi’s codependence. Sometimes he wonders if he has the right make Iwaizumi choose, when it’s clear that he belongs to him and Oikawa in very different ways. 

Sometimes he wonders when and why he let himself get so fucking tangled in this fucked up pseudo-threesome. Sometimes he wonders if all this complicated shit is even worth it, if he’ll be better off with someone who isn’t haunted by the ghost of their dead best friend.

But sometimes Iwaizumi smiles at him like he pulls the sun up to rise every morning, smiles at him and whispers _thank you for understanding_. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and sees Oikawa curled up in the corner, sobbing like the countless ghost children Hanamaki watched his mother lead into the afterlife, afraid, guilty, lost, homesick.

Sometimes he watches the chaos that is his life, and hates himself for taking so long to do what he does next.

 

-

 

Making an o-fuda was one of the first things his mother taught him to do, and he’s glad his mother insisted he take all her materials with him when he moved out. He knows Oikawa is hovering behind him, watching, curious but resigned, and when Hanamaki finishes painting the last stroke, Oikawa kneels in front of him without a word.

 

-

 

He’s counting Iwaizumi’s moles with his ink-stained fingers, drawing images and words on the wide expanse of his back. He knows Iwaizumi hates them, is self-conscious and looks up laser treatments even when Hanamaki stubbornly throws away the pamphlets and calling cards and kisses every single one of Iwaizumi’s moles and calls them _beautiful_.

He just finishes tracing the kanji for _love_ on the map of Iwaizumi’s skin when Oikawa enters their room, unannounced and silent, as his presence always seems to be these days. He phases through the door but it’s clumsy, like he became tangible halfway through and merged with the wood. Oikawa’s flickering, the lines of his body splitting and shaking like something out of a TV with bad reception.

“You’re good for each other.” Oikawa croaks, and Hanamaki realizes why the light passes so oddly over his face. It’s wet, like he’s been crying, like he’s _still_ crying. His lips are set in a horribly sad grimace, trembling with every word. “You make him happy.”

Hanamaki doesn’t know what to say, realizes this is the first time Oikawa’s ever spoken to him directly, so he just sits up, looks at him in confusion as he kneels by Iwaizumi’s side of the bed. Oikawa smiles at Iwaizumi, struggles to brush fingers across his face without passing through him completely. He leans in, and here Hanamaki respectfully turns away, knowing that he’s intruding, wanting to at least lend respect to Oikawa’s last moments.

“Please take care of Iwa-chan.” Oikawa says, soft as wind, and Hanamaki turns in time to watch him dissolve into the sunrise, the o-fuda fluttering, ashes before it hits the ground.

Later, Iwaizumi wakes up in tears, and Hanamaki is washing two plates in the sink.

He comes to bed and Iwaizumi’s sitting there, shell-shocked and morose, hand gently curled over his cheek, where Oikawa last touched. He looks up at Hanamaki when he enters and they stay like that, locked in a tableau for god knows how many seconds before Iwaizumi buckles, mouth tearing open in a sob so loud it shocks Hanamaki into motion.

He holds Iwaizumi like he never had to be held before. Iwaizumi clings to him like a child, face buried in the fabric of his chest, wailing and crying when whatever remains of his cracked, crooked heart finally crumbles into dust.

 

-

 

They still leave out a third plate of food. They always used to do that even though Oikawa never had any real need to eat. He pretends he does, but Hanamaki knows he just stows away all the food to give to the neighbor’s cat later. Now it just sits there, untouched until Hanamaki stands and wraps it up for himself to heat tomorrow at work.

He thinks Iwaizumi is still hoping Oikawa comes back, sitting on the couch with his head turned towards the door like he’s waiting for Oikawa to phase through it and join him. Hanamaki lets it happen, because he knows Iwaizumi is finally letting out the grief that Oikawa’s ghost deprived him of. He never had to deal with Oikawa’s loss after his death. Why would he, when his best friend woke him on the night of the accident, translucent and intangible but very much still there?

Hanamaki simply tucks a blanket around Iwaizumi’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek, whispers _I love you Hajime._ before heading off to sleep in a bed much too big for one person. 

He doesn’t know what triggers it, but one night, instead of drifting straight to the couch, he sits beside Hanamaki on their bed, the springs creaking joyfully at the familiar weight.

“Where did he go?” Iwaizumi whispers, voice thin, lips to his shoulder, arms slithering around his waist. “Why did he leave?”

Hanamaki turns, gently repositions Iwaizumi until his arms are around his shoulders, his head propped up on Hanamaki’s chest.

“He went home.” Hanamaki pushes Iwaizumi’s hair back, cooing at the feverish sheen of sweat on his skin. “He left because he had to.” He thumbs Iwaizumi’s cheek, wiping away the tear tracks. “He should have left a long time ago, Hajime. You knew that too, didn’t you?”

Iwaizumi says nothing, but he closes his eyes and lets one more tear slip past his lids. Hanamaki reaches up and brushes it away with a knuckle, kissing the peak of his forehead.

Iwaizumi falls asleep like that, the final remnants of his grief still clinging to his eyelashes.

The next day, Hanamaki wakes up and Iwaizumi’s already made breakfast. He’s just setting down a steaming mug of coffee in front of Hanamaki’s seat when Hanamaki enters the kitchen, and he looks up and greets him with a smile, warm and sincere despite his swollen eyes.

The absence of the third plate doesn’t escape Hanamaki’s attention, but he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he walks over to the table and kisses Iwaizumi’s cheek, says _I love you, Hajime_.

And finally, Iwaizumi looks up at him and responds, eyes bright with happiness, _I love you too, Takahiro_.

A butterfly lands on the window pane, its iridescent wings glimmering in the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> title from _As I Walked Out One Evening_ by W.H. Auden
> 
>  
> 
> [plumtreeforest.tumblr.com](http://plumtreeforest.tumblr.com)


End file.
